


Haikei, Chichiue-sama (Dear father)

by vogue91



Category: Arashi (Band), Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Family, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 17:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: He wondered why those roles.The roles of those guys, with those fathers.Of course it was easy for him to play them, because it often happened that he wasn’t playing at all.It wasn’t hard for him to identify with someone disappointed with who brought him to the world.





	Haikei, Chichiue-sama (Dear father)

_Takuma. Tawara Ippei._

He thought about his career, and felt like smiling. Sarcastically.

_Yamada Tarou. Ariake Koichi._

Yes, smile.

He wondered why those roles.

The roles of those guys, with _those_ fathers.

Of course it was easy for him to play them, because it often happened that he wasn’t playing at all.

It wasn’t hard for him to identify with someone disappointed with who brought him to the world.

He was young, but he wished he had been enough as to not remember. The fights, the yelling. His father leaving slamming the door, and his mother too tired to even cry.

And then the divorce, and he sitting in the living room looking at his father leaving, unaware that his back was going to be the last thing he’d ever see of him.

He closed his eyes, and leant against the chair.

He was sitting at the table, studying yet another script for yet another drama, and wondering what did he need those memories for.

It had been years, and the grudge inside of him didn’t give any sign to become any better; he had hoped he could’ve forgotten all that had happened, and that he could’ve gone on just pretending that his father had never been there.

He hadn’t managed that.

It was like a ghost floating over their heads, any time he, his mother and his sister were together. They knew something was wrong, they knew what, but they never talked about it.

It had been almost fifteen years, and Nino had never brought it up; his sister, from time to time, tried to talk to him, but he had always refused to be a part of such conversations, and his mother did the same.

She had spoiled him and he had let himself be spoiled, pretending that behind each one of his childish whims there wasn’t a bigger reason.

It had been like that his whole life, and know he had grown used to it; Nino always got what he wanted, but at what price?

This was what was going through his mind every time he was given a new role, another story to play, a new character to make his own. And when someone complimented him for his acting he smiled and thanked, thinking that when he had to play the part of a kid whose life lacked any foundation, acting wasn’t really the point, and the disappointed Ninomiya Kazunari showed himself, almost as if he brought on the set that child sitting on the couch, looking at his father leaving for good.

He wished he could’ve stopped thinking. He put the script down, clearly unable to focus. He took his head in his hands and snorted.

He thought, and thought and thought too much to stop.

Him. His father. His sister.

His mother and her fake smiles, her wonderful ability to pretend everything was alright, just for the sake of her kids.

Nino had always appreciated her, even if he had never told her that, nor he was going to.

They were the same, his mother and him. They went on wearing a mask, without needing to be soothed, without needing any recognition for what they did for each other. Peaceful enough to keep going down their paths.

He smiled thinking about her.

Then his thoughts moved elsewhere.

To when he had joined the Johnny’s. To the M.A.I.N. To the Arashi.

To Ohno.

During the years, he had always wondered what had brought them closer, and he had always refused to give himself the easier answer, the obvious one.

During all that time, Ohno had been there, like the others had.

He had never disappointed him, he had never given up on Nino, not even when he became so insufferable that anybody would’ve had a hard time being there for him.

That had made him fall for him. His perseverance. The same he had always lacked during his whole life.

Even thinking about him made him smile.

He and Ohno had never talked seriously. Or, at least, not about Nino, his past, how he felt about his father, about the two of them.

They didn’t, because Ohno knew he wasn’t going to get any answers, and because being curious or nosy wasn’t in his nature.

If and when the younger would’ve wanted to talk about it, he would’ve listened.

And Nino didn’t feel like talking, like opening up, but knowing that he could’ve was enough to state that this was also something he loved about Ohno.

He was there.

Nino took the script back, sighing.

It didn’t matter what part he played. It was still a role, a character that he would’ve worn for a few months tops, and then he would’ve gone back to his reality.

A reality where he had decided he wasn’t alone.

A reality where he had let in all those people who loved him.

All those who were going to stay, that were always going to come back for him, unlike his father.

He had never truly said goodbye to him, and those unspoken words left him hanging in his memories of him.

He closed his eyes, picturing his back once again, the door slamming, and his life changing all of a sudden.

He felt hatred, together with a sadness that didn’t belong to him.

He should’ve gotten out of it.

“Goodbye, dad.” he tried to whisper, but he realized it wasn’t going to work, not now nor ever.

It was a part of him, whether he wanted it or not.

The part of himself he hated the most, but that nonetheless belonged to him.

The part of his past that had made him the man he was.

And he would’ve gone on anyway, because if there was something he had learnt it was that everyone who goes leaves behind indelible traces.

He had too many people to thank and too many to forget, but he wasn’t going to do either.

He would’ve gone on, like always.

Aware of the person he was and aware of the people he had around him.

What he lacked, it didn’t really matter.

 


End file.
